


you make me better every day

by towokuwusatsuwu



Series: Pride 2018: 30 Days of S.W.O.R.D. [22]
Category: HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Engagement, Established Relationship, Multi, Polyamory, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 21:33:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15009884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towokuwusatsuwu/pseuds/towokuwusatsuwu
Summary: “What’s this?” he asks, poking Furuya in the side.Sighing, Furuya pushes himself up and rubs his eyes, not thrilled at being disturbed from his peaceful position. It’s only when his vision focuses and he has a proper look at Murayama’s hand that his heart stops, though it’s not merciful enough to fully kill him.In Muryama’s hand is the small, black velvet box Furuya purchased that day, the one he kept secreted away until he was sure he would be ready to reveal it to his boyfriends. The expression on Murayama’s face is oddly blank, which means he must be fighting hard to keep his reaction to himself, though the intensity in his bright brown eyes makes Furuya feel uneasy. It also means he no doubt opened the box, counted what was inside of it, drew his own conclusions, and is now patiently waiting for Furuya to confirm or deny them.But for what other purpose would he have purchasedthreewedding bands?





	you make me better every day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dialecstatic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dialecstatic/gifts).



They have to use two futons so the three of them can stretch out comfortably without curling into a cramped little ball, though this late in the winter Furuya Hideto is thinking better of not wanting to be pressed so close, skin-to-skin, that any movement risks waking his bed partners. When he cracks his eyelids open regrettably, cold silver morning light is seeping beneath the curtains over the windows and creeping slowly across the scuffed and scratched wooden floor. They would have missed all of their morning classes if they ever bothered to go.

He shivers, a slight chill in the room encouraging him to huddle deeper beneath the comforter stretched across the three of them, his arms shifting to wrap more tightly around Murayama. Their fearless leader always sleeps in the middle, takes cold the easiest and spends the longest getting warm again, so he and Seki decided long ago that keeping Murayama safely between them was just a better all-around option.

Both of them are still asleep. Seki snores softly in his sleep, not loud enough to be disruptive at all, so neither of them ever say anything to him about it. He has an arm wrapped around Murayama’s waist, Murayama’s head tucked up under his chin and for a moment, Furuya leans back to look at the two of them even though his body protests, wanting to be curled in close, to chase the cold away before it seeps into his bones and stays there for the rest of the day. At this rate, he might never be coaxed out of bed.

The sight of his boyfriends sleeping peacefully is soothing, though. They fought long and hard for peace, and even though the war is far from won, this momentary lapse of quiet between battles is appreciated. Murayama would throw himself headfirst into any fight to protect their home, and Furuya and Seki would follow him to the end, because this is natural, and because letting him go alone is absolutely out of the question.

Furuya knows Murayama feels the same, of course. Had been there when Murayama assured Cobra that he would be with Oya High for decades to come, and Furuya has no reason not to believe him. The leader he used to follow, the demon leader of Oya High, was there in spirit when the fight called for him, but Murayama had changed during the conflict with Todoroki, and every battle with the rest of S.W.O.R.D. only seemed to strengthen the man he was growing into, someone who loved his friends and fought for those he loved.

The final confrontation with Kuryu, or at least the latest one on what is sure to be a long list of fights to come, strengthened Furuya’s resolve, too. Not that his needed strengthening, because even when he was certain Murayama only looked at them, at him and Seki, as an easy way to waste some spare time between fighting, he already knew he was never going to leave Murayama’s side. It was only a pleasant surprise when Murayama came to feel the same.

So maybe  _ strengthen _ isn’t the right word, but he’d left the S.W.O.R.D. region for a little while, just an afternoon, with a fistful of money carefully put aside for the last few months or so, odd jobs here and there. What he picked up wasn’t particularly expensive, but he knows it’s the thought that counts and Murayama clings to hoodies and t-shirts and jeans with holes and torn seams and frayed cuffs and hems, so it isn’t like he values expense over everything else. He values sentiment, though he might kill Furuya for saying so aloud.

The box is tucked away in a drawer across the room, not quite retrieved just yet, because Furuya had been waiting to make the purchase and found himself too tongue-tied to do anything with it once he had. Even trying to talk to himself in the mirror, or trying to practice with Todoroki— who has  _ endless _ patience, far too much for a member of Oya High— ended up with him almost swallowing his own tongue just to escape the awkward embarrassment.

_ I should do it today, maybe, _ he thinks, then immediately chases the thought out of his mind and presses his face into the back of Murayama’s head, nuzzling into his soft hair.

By the time the three of them drag themselves out of bed, Furuya bitching the entire way, the thought has entirely left his mind. The hazy fondness is still present, though, sat at the table with a cup of coffee in hand to keep him from complaining about the cold so much. Seki is the only one of them allowed near the stove, given the fact Furuya burned himself pretty badly cooking bacon once and Murayama set a dish towel on fire, and he hums something under his breath, probably one of the new pop songs getting constant radio airplay.

“I’m going to get one of your hoodies,” Murayama says from where he’s perched on the kitchen counter, slipping down onto the floor, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. They had only just barely managed to get him to stay up long enough to take his eyeliner off before going to bed, and without it on, and with mussed hair, he looks so cute and sleepy. “Still cold.”

“I told you we should have stayed in bed,” Furuya mutters.

Murayama makes a face at him and leans over him as he walks around behind Furuya, planting a soft kiss on the side of his neck. “Quit complaining. I was too hungry to stay in bed.”

“Top drawer.” Furuya sips his coffee, and the heat makes him feel just a little better.

Murayama blows him a kiss on his way out of the kitchen and Furuya sighs, nudging his mug a little away from him so he can lie his arms on the table, pillowing his head on top of them. He lets his eyes close, so he doesn’t really notice when Seki steps away from the stove until there’s a warm hand cupping the back of his neck, making him whine softly.

“You still tired? We were up pretty late last night,” he says, rubbing Furuya’s skin gently.

“Woke up before we all got up and kinda had trouble going back to sleep. Got cold.” Furuya lifts his head a little and puckers his lips, not bothering to open his eyes. He makes a small, satisfied noise when Seki humors him and pecks him on the mouth just the same.

Because the smells from the stove are starting to make his stomach rumble, Furuya bites back his complaints when Seki has to move away from him, going back to lying on his arms. He hears the sound of Murayama’s socked feet on the hardwood and assumes his boyfriend will retake his place on the counter, since Murayama likes to sit in high places like some kind of cat, so he isn’t expecting the chair scraping across the floor or the hard sound of Murayama sitting in a chair like a normal person.

“What’s this?” he asks, poking Furuya in the side.

Sighing, Furuya pushes himself up and rubs his eyes, not thrilled at being disturbed from his peaceful position. It’s only when his vision focuses and he has a proper look at Murayama’s hand that his heart stops, though it’s not merciful enough to fully kill him.

In Muryama’s hand is the small, black velvet box Furuya purchased that day, the one he kept secreted away until he was sure he would be ready to reveal it to his boyfriends. The expression on Murayama’s face is oddly blank, which means he must be fighting hard to keep his reaction to himself, though the intensity in his bright brown eyes makes Furuya feel uneasy. It also means he no doubt opened the box, counted what was inside of it, drew his own conclusions, and is now patiently waiting for Furuya to confirm or deny them.

But for what other purpose would he have purchased  _ three _ wedding bands?

“Murayama-san? What’d you find?” Seki asks, turning to look at them, his brows drawing together. “Is that a jewelry box?”

Furuya swallows hard around the tightness in his throat, the anxiety clawing at his gut, but he refuses to drop Murayama’s gaze. “It is a jewelry box. I bought something.”

“What’d you buy?” Murayama asks, his voice soft, oh so deceptively soft.

“After what you said to Cobra— Do you remember?” Furuya cuts himself off, watching Murayama cock his head, considering. Then his eyes light up, and he nods quickly. “Right. You said you’d go with us for decades, and I know you meant Oya High in general, but…”

Seki flips some switches on the stove and sits down with them. The table had originally come with four chairs, but they only have the three left, which is just enough for all of them. “It was a nice sentiment just the same.”

“I know what I said.” Murayama wets his lips, so soft and kissable that Furuya momentarily wonders if he can distract him by kissing him, secret the box away somewhere, and make him forget this ever happened. A  _ joke, _ because Murayama never forgets anything. “And yes, I meant Oya High in general, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t apply to you two. It did, just in a different way. Because things are different between us.”

“Because we love each other,” Furuya says softly.

Murayama’s lips stretch into a smile and he nods, stretching out a hand, his fingertips just grazing Furuya’s jaw. “Yeah. Exactly. I love both of you a lot, you know that.”

“Right. So. I mean, the laws in this country haven’t exactly caught up with anything like that yet, y’know, and I doubt they ever really will.” Furuya winces at himself, fists a hand in his shirt and tells himself to calm down. He focuses on his boys, on Seki watching him with concerned eyes, on Murayama and how cute he looks wearing Furuya’s hoodie, way too big on him. “Even if… I mean even if two guys could get married, they wouldn’t ever let  _ three, _ you know?”

“Wait.” Seki leans over the table, catches Furuya’s elbow and squeezes. “What are you talking about all of a sudden? Marriage?”

Murayama sets the box on the table, tapping the top of it with one slim finger. “Can I open it? I’ve already seen what was in it. Maybe that was rude, but—”

“It was  _ definitely _ rude, Murayama-san,” Seki corrects him, and Murayama pouts, pursing his lips and slouching his shoulders, and Furuya shakes his head at the both of them. “You shouldn’t have opened it if it didn’t belong to you. Going through Hideto’s things was wrong.”

“Right, right, but I already did, so.” Murayama looks up at Furuya, running a hand through his hair to push his tangled bangs out of his eyes. They’re intense again, bright and burning through Furuya’s very soul. “Can I open it? Or do you want to do the honors?”

Furuya swallows around the dryness in his throat. “Y-you can open it.”

Murayama dusts off the top of the box, picking a piece of lint or two off of the dark surface, then runs a finger over the hinges on the side, as if inspecting the box for damage. Satisfied, he opens the box, the tiny springs creaking so loud in the quiet of the kitchen, then turns it so Seki can see it and sets it in the center of the table. Inside, three golden bands sit on top of a black velvet pillow, matching in everything except for size, because Murayama has smaller fingers.

Seki stares at the box blankly for a minute before speaking. “What are—?”

“Weddings rings. It took me a minute, too.” Murayama curls a hand beneath his chin, props his elbow on the table, and Furuya watches them both, his pulse thudding in his ears and throat. “Because you normally don’t see three of them together designed to look the same. It’s usually two. But Furuya had to buy them for all of us, didn’t you?”

“Right.” Furuya links his fingers together on top of the table, then pulls his mug closer so he can wrap his hands around it, warming them, his fingertips already having gone cold. “I wasn’t… Ready to ask, I didn’t think you’d find them. But you said you’d go for decades for us, and I’ve… I can speak for Seki and myself, I think, because we’ve talked about it, but we’ve both agreed we’d stay with you for as long as you want us. So, this just feels like a formality.”

Murayama’s eyes shift to him, and he smiles softly, faintly. “So then ask.”

“Ah, well.” Furuya slurps coffee to wet his lips, to ease the tightness in his throat. “Murayama, Seki, I… You both know I love you. You’ve both been good for me. I was kind of directionless really, I wasn’t cut out to lead Oya High. Having you both in my life means a lot to me. And if you’ll stay, then there’s nothing more I could ever ask for. So would you both marry me?”

“Idiot.” Murayama hooks a foot around Furuya’s chair and drags it out from under the table and before Furuya can react, Murayama is in his lap, warm and soft, arms around his neck. “Like you even had to ask. Dramatic fucker. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Before Furuya can respond, there are arms catching him from behind, Seki leaning over the top of his chair, so that he’s caught between them both. “How long did we know each other before Murayama-san came along? I would have said yes to you years ago. Yeah, I’ll marry you.”

Furuya inhales slowly and then Murayama’s mouth is on his own, taking advantage of his vulnerable position to just shove his tongue in, wet and messy and fingers gripping the back of Furuya’s neck so tightly it almost hurts. He doesn’t get a chance to breathe because the second Murayama is off him, Seki tilts his head back to steal a kiss of his own, and warmth spreads through Furuya’s entire body. He doesn’t know that he’s ever going to be cold again.

“These are nice.” Murayama picks the box up, then stuffs it into Furuya’s hand, holding his out, fingers splayed. “You bought them. You should put it on me, then.”

Seeing as he’s spent a good while turning these rings around in his own fingers, Furuya knows which one is Murayama’s and picks it out of the three, sliding it onto his finger while his own tremble. How many times did he think about this, dream about this? Only for the reality of the soft gold glinting around Murayama’s finger to be nothing like the reality. And since he has the box in hand, it only makes sense to twist around as best he can without toppling Murayama to the floor so he can put Seki’s on him, too.

Murayama takes the third ring and puts it on Furuya himself, then kisses the back of his hand, a teasing little smile lighting up his face. “Since we’re married, does that make this the wedding night?”

“The food will probably get cold,” Furuya murmurs.

Seki squeezes his shoulders. “We can always heat it up again.”

They almost trip over each other to get down the hallway, Murayama clinging to one of his hands while Seki holds onto the other, and the hallway wasn’t really designed for three people to go down shoulder-to-shoulder. Murayama knocks the bedroom door open hard enough that it rebounds off the wall and catches Furuya on the shoulder, but he doesn’t mind so much. He pays him back for it a moment later anyway, picking him up off of the ground, half-stumbling over the pile of clothing on the floor so he can toss Murayama down on the futon, bent over so Murayama only has a small distance to fall and so it won’t hurt him.

Murayama stretches himself out and smiles wickedly up at them both, holding his hands out. “I’m cold,” he says, and it can’t possibly be true because he’s fully dressed and in one of Furuya’s hoodies to boot. But he makes his voice small and vulnerable, and he blinks up at them so innocently that Furuya feels his blood catch fire and hears Seki inhale sharply next to him. “My husbands should come here and warm me up.”

Furuya swears and he and Seki dive down together, Murayama laughing all the while, and the kisses are fast and hard, a little messy, but it’s  _ them _ , and Furuya would never have it any other way.

After all, they’re dedicated to each other for decades.


End file.
